What is in our world today?Our world is bottled up with hatred, discrimination, and ignorance,Beliefs of entitlement, greedy motivations, and fear,All of which are suppressing love, acceptance, and education,The will to work, generous thoughts, and ease.

We despise each other and ourselves,Unable to find satisfactionIn what we and others have or do not have,In what we and others already are or are not,Because hating is easier than loving.

We can't stand those that are different,Or even those that are like us.We just keep pointing fingers, saying,"You did this! They did that!"As if that would solve the issue.(It really doesn't, it only makes things worse.)

We don't look at the other side.Our myopic minds cannot,Excuse me, will notPut ourselves in others' shoes.

We turn against each other like a flip of a coin,Or, at times, for the coin,Even devouring ourselves from the inside out.

In another world, our problems do not existThey would be taken up, cast out, and replaced by a new set of issues,Issues that we have never even considered before.Perhaps that other world would be worse,But I just hope that it would be better.

I am from adrenaline,From excitement and constant yelps of alarm.I am from having too much energy than is good for anyone,From grass stains, callused hands, some wound from somewhere,And the occasional splinterWhen things come crashing down.But I am from being okay,From Band-Aids or not even bothering.I am from shouts and bruises,And after a while, everything is numb.I am from awkwardness, judgement, and being the weirdo (and I’m proud),And am I a social antisocialIf the social socials only stay in their herds,And there are more antisocials than socials;By that logic, they would be the antisocial socials and I’d be the social social,But anything is alright.I am from “Titanium”,From “Walk Away”, and most definitely am I from a “Mad World”.I am from never resting my voice, not even on sick days,From “singing Radiohead at the top of my lungs,”And begging, “Please don’t stop the music.”I am from string-sawing and stiff, cold fingersThat somehow, when they feel like it, Create nicely flowing melodiesAnd spontaneous old tunes.I’m from a picture,And it has much too many dreadful details.I am from fixing something too much or too little.I’m from too many spheres, fruit, fur, flowers, trees, lines, and tortoises.Don’t forget the blending, houses, more lines, Vehicles of transportation, notorious angles, and clouds.Especially the clouds.And why do I always end up with shiny hands no matter the precautions I’ve taken,Or splatters of color in the most random of places?I’m from heavy backpacks with heavy binders, Heavy textbooks, And even heavy folders inside.I’m from being the “Goody-Miss-Two-Shoes” and the “Teacher’s Pet”,But seriously, I was only aiming for the A... Plus.Okay, maybe I actually participated in class.I’m from a cycle of procrastination, stress, and last but not least,Thinking about how I really needed to get rid of this habit.I’m from saying afterward, “Nah, maybe tomorrow.”I am from “just another stride”,Lacking the speed, but never the spirit, And I still recall the chant of B-O-R-O, Boro Boro, go go!I am from watching others get cheered on, But the voices never found my name.I’m from a new and better suited home, trying to get this flick in the wrist,That perfect angle, and unconsciously achieving the desired C.I’m from umbrellas, a foot and two inches, From Dad, bagels, and bipolar weather.I am from missing by a few feet, dropping my arms, and strange run-ups.Luckily, I didn’t get speared, squashed, or decapitated from stray implements;We’ll see how I am in a few more seasons.I am from witnessing my favorite characters getting killed by bombs,And from experiencing authors who just really wanted to kill all of their characters.I’m from a place where “people are real” and “people matter”,Where we are always as hungry as a caterpillar,And where I see plenty of mice, but sadly, I never have any cookies on me.I am from always wanting to adopt a female dog named Jack,Or even befriending a wolfdog named White Fang.I am from the house of Gryffindor, and I’m obviously Divergent.I’m from a world that has horrible endings, endings that I want to frame,And where some endings are not actually endings at all, Because there’s always a sequel.I’m from never finding the perfect reading position, But I’m always too comfy to move.I’m from starting to travel on my own,From staying up until one AM for the food that never arrived, Or three AM playing ping-pong and hanging out,Or even until five AM, teasing the Zombie and ranting about the KKS.I am from business plans and nails and last second preparations,From a scary arm for throwing things, especially foam footballs,And from inventing the new and best version of the knock-knock joke.I’m from the high altitudes, maybe even too high,Joking around, making shapes with my Tsamba, and enjoying my yogurt.I’m from watching failing attempts at shoveling manure,And from song trade-offs over the walkie-talkie.I am from effects of an earthquake, stones in the river, thunder, and sandstorms.I am from a haunted house, dolls’ eyes, and the darkness,Although light is even worse.I am from a fictional alternate universe I’ve created in my dreams,From three-eyed mummies, giant laughing frogs, and flashing faces.I am from “The Storm” and “Pack”.I am from the number nine, 7:43 AM, and from being twice misidentified,Thrice if typos count.Where am I from?Ultimately, I am from Earth,Or from the stars.I am from the first Hydrogen atom,The first living organism.I may be from a giant man standing among clouds,Or a giant spaghetti monster in the sky.I am from Life, Death, and everything in between.In the end, I am from friends, family, and strangers, But most importantly,I am from Me, Myself, and I.

I am a flower bush,Roots firmly gripping hold of the earth beneath me,My trunk strong and centered, stretching towards the sky,With my branches and leaves growing outwards to meet the hands of my neighbors.My buds are excited to see the sunlight for the first time.Already existing flowers boldly stand out with their different, neon colors.My pollen spread all around, landing little specks of yellow on other flower bushes.I am a rain drop,Falling and falling and falling quickly from thousands of feet from the sky.The gray clouds above have dropped me and released me into freedom.As I register this new feeling, fear fills my watery self.The ground is coming in quickly, and I don’t know what to do.I flash by in the air like all the other rain drops, but I refuse to show my fear.I will not be the first to show weakness.

I am an antique china vase,Sitting off to the side, not really belonging with the other vases.My designs and postures are different, weird,But I still love myself when others don’t.I sit there uselessly while other vases are being filled with my owner’s objects.Because I can’t take it, and if I was broken, I would break into a million pieces,Never to be put back together ever again.

But most of all, I am human.Walking tall on my two long legs and swinging my arms back and forth.Making mistakes and problems wherever I go.Trying to lessen other’s suffering by suffering with them.I am so imperfect.So imperfect to a point where I’m...Perfect.Because I’m only human.I am still here,Breathing,Existing,Living.